


Loyal Is The Heart

by SerendipityAngel



Series: Heart Holds The Darkest Truth [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Family Drama, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Implied Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Incest, Love, The Game, Tywin Lannister still has a heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-05 08:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11574516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerendipityAngel/pseuds/SerendipityAngel
Summary: ***WORK GOT ACCIDENTLY DELETED!!! REPOST!!!!**For the past seventeen years, Rowena Lannister has lived her entire life as the legitimized bastard of Jaime Lannister along with her twin brother Tristan Lannister - tucked away in Casterly Rock where they were brought up by their grandfather Lord Tywin Lannister when they were only children. Seven years later, she finds herself in Winterfell a month earlier awaiting her reunion with her father- but, it is what happens during her month alone in the North that changes what she thought she knew about herself and her brother. And it is also a certain bastard that reminds her what her father had told her before she and her brother left for Casterly Rock, “we don’t chose whom we love.”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of the original version which i accidently deleted!!! Anyway, read and enjoy!!

Prologue

 

            _Winterfell is nothing like Casterly Rock._ She had about thought this even before they had reached the gates of the thousand-year-old bleak fortress castle that sat as the capital of the North; but now, as she stood in the center of one of the guest chambers, it had dawned her heart that Winterfell could never be Casterly Rock and she was far from home. The stone walls were a bleak dark grey that made the room feel heavy around her shoulders unlike the earth red walls that reflected the sun she grown up in, the chamber was nowhere near the size of her own rooms, at most this chamber was the size of the dungeons down below the Rock that were used to keep thieves and murders; and from what she had first seen when she had gotten out of the coach, Winterfell had no splendid garden where the prettiest and rarest flowers grew like the one overlooking the cliff at the Rock, but rather a simple Godswood and there were no fruit trees where ripened fruit could not be plucked by her own hand. And all she would see whenever she would look out of the window in the coming mornings would be nothing, but the muddy courtyard and winter hills covered by the woods that encircled Winterfell instead of the beautiful view of the blues waves of Sunset Sea crashing against the cliff rocks and the bright yellow-pink sunrise. No, Winterfell is not her home- it _could_ never be Rowena Lannister’s home.

            But, coming to Winterfell had been the only way that she would be able to reunite with her father, Ser Jaime Lannister after seven long years of being apart. During those seven years they had lasted their bond through countless letters along with her brother Tristan-although, as the years went on her twin brother found more time for flattering the ladies than writing back father. There was never a night that went by where Rowena closed her eyes and she didn’t think about how much her father missed both her and her brother or the other way around. There were times when she would think about her Uncle Tyrion, the Imp as everyone called him, but she would find content whenever he would visit her and Tristan on their namedays and she would be lying to the New Gods if she claimed she didn’t miss her little cousins Tommen and Myrcella. The last time she had seen them was when they were the littlest of children, oh how sweet they were so drastically unlike her prince cousin Joffrey whom her Uncle would describe as a nightmare. Rowena only hoped the golden crowned boy had grown out of it before he became King after his father.

            She had only ever seen King Robert Baratheon a few times as a girl when she stayed at the Red Keep; those times were during the beginning of the many feasts the King would throw for whatever reason he thought fit, her father would never let her and Tristan stay any later than when the King would start to get drunk. If Rowena were ever to recall, there would be only scarce times when she would see him actually sit on the Iron Throne, his hand Jon Arryn did most of that (from what she could remember). The only time King Robert personally spoke to her was when he would greet her or Tristan on their namedays- so, while the King was here she would act so favorably of him like her grandfather had taught her in the open for all eyes to see. Though, when she was alone in her own walls was when she would be able to express how she felt little for her King Uncle, if she would even call him that. Yet, while all she could feel for the King was less than content, it was her brother who admired him- well, rather the Robert depicted by the books from his rebellion.

            If Tristan were to have been found, in both the Red Keep and the Rock, he would have been found nestled somewhere in the libraries spawning over books depicting all the events of Robert’s Rebellion and the histories and lore of the Seven Kingdoms. No doubting thought crossed her mind that her Uncle Tyrion had planted the seed of her brother’s secret fascination of books whenever he would make such random visits. Oh, how Rowena silently wishes that Tristan had come with her, if he was here than maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone in a place that was so different than the one she had come from; they were inseparable and Rowena knew that somehow Tristan and her were connected in a way that no other pair of siblings could feel. One could easily tell what the other was feeling or thinking by just a look and Rowena didn’t know how she could live a whole month without her beloved brother; but, it had been his choice to stay behind at Casterly Rock and join their father halfway into the journey up North. As much as Rowena was dissatisfied with his choice, she knew that Tristan had wanted to prove so much more to his father when the two would meet again; she just didn’t know _what_ Tristan wanted to prove.

            Surely, grandfather must have been writing to their father about how skilled a swordsman Tristan had become and how much of a man he must have resembled their father in his younger days. But, Tristan had always been the one out of the two to want to prove to everyone that he was more than how others saw them; legitimized bastard children of Ser Jaime Lannister and some Naath handmaiden in the Red Keep. But in their hearts, they were Lions. They would always be Lions.

            The crackling logs in the fire had swept Rowena out of her thoughts and she found herself back in the surprisingly warm guest chambers, staring absentmindedly out of the only large window in the room. It may have seemed liked she was observing the bleak view, but her mind had truly wandered off pass the gates of Winterfell, pass the hills and woods of the North, and pass the North itself.

            “Where shall we put your things, My Lady?” Jayne, a daughter of a lord from one of the vassal houses loyal to House Lannister, softly asked from beside her.

            Jayne had been in her services when her grandfather had decided that she was of age to be given her own handmaidens, although Rowena was ranked above Jayne the two girls were the same age and had been brought up together before Jayne was placed as one of her handmaidens. If anything, Jayne was the only one out of Rowena’s handmaidens, that Rowena would consider as a close companion- a friend maybe if her grandfather hadn’t raised her and Tristin to believe that the Game had no friends.

            _Maybe, I don’t need to play the Game here_ Rowena wanted to hope that Winterfell was not the same as Casterly Rock or Kings Landing, where schemes and secrets ran the court. For all that Winterfell had lacked, that would be the one thing making up for it.

            Rowena turned to face Jayne, “wherever you can find a place to put them in.” that was her dismissal in the matter and Jayne nodded her head before turning her back to direct the other two handmaidens on their duties.

            “Corina, you are to find a servant and tell him we need hot water for the Lady’s bath and some scented oils.” Jayne ordered to the dark haired girl who looked no more than a few years younger than she and Jayne.

            Rowena merely watched in amusement as she watched the small petite blonde command every little thing that needed to be done; it amused her to find how well Jayne masked feeling superior toward the other two girls. Though, only to be fair, the two young girls were fairly new considering that half of her former handmaidens had gone their own ways after their fathers arranged and secured marriage matches for them. Jayne was the only one still as loyal as ever.

            Jayne continued, “Delilah, go down to the kitchens and have the cooks bring up a platter of pastries and wine for the Lady. You will also find one of the Stark boys and ask of them of where the Lady can keep Lan during the nights and-”

            “There will be no need of that, Lan will be staying with me in the nights, and by my side during the days.” Rowena dotted on the sleeping year-old hound curled onto the giant feathered bed.

            Jayne frowned, “are you sure My Lady? I have heard that Lady Stark keeps her children’s Direwolves in one of the stables-”

            Rowena glared a Lioness’s glare, “Lady Stark said this is to be my chambers for however long I see fit, did she not? If this is to be my room, then I will treat it as such. Lan will sleep by my side as he has since he was a litter.”

            Neither Delilah nor Corina question their thoughts on their Lady’s stance, only hurrying out of the room to fulfill Jayne’s orders of what was to be done in the next hour or so.

            Jayne stepped forward, smoothing down her green wool dress, “forgive me, My Lady I should not have questioned you-”

            Rowena looked down at the blonde girl with a small smile, “my name is Rowena, Jayne. You have called me that when we were little girls playing in the old Godswood. Use it, sometimes.”

            Jayne’s blue eyes widened, “t-that is not proper, My Lady-”

            Rowena stared down at her with cold hazel-green eyes, doing more than enough to make her handmaiden shut her mouth in a thin line. Rowena sighed contently before moving across the room to the bed where Lan had curled into a ball fast asleep. He had been a gift for her nameday the year before from her Father when he had failed to go through with his promise of being there for her sixteenth nameday; he had sent and forged a sword as Tristan’s gift. Secretly, there were a few times that Rowena had wished she had gotten a sword too; forged only for her. Rowena was desperate to know if she had inherited her father’s remarkable swordsman trait like her brother had. Though, Lan was a symbol of her father’s love and his devotion of his remembrance of when she had mentioned how she wanted a pup of her own when she was a little girl. She had named it Lan to impress her grandfather and in honor of their ancestor who had given them Casterly Rock. Oh, how much she could not wait to be in her father’s arms again after seven years with going a whole day without his embrace. It had been too long.

            Rowena felt her lips curve as she ran her hand down the rust-colored fur back of the hound, he nudged his head against her hand as a warming response, before she turned on the heel of her leather boots to walk back to the window. It is then as she looked back out of the window that she saw two male figures sparring against each other with wooden swords while two other males (one young and the other old) watched on. She titled her head to get a better look and she had concluded that she had also been given a small view of the training yard due to the fact there were practice arch targets, practice dummies, and a stand filled with dull spears and swords and bows and arrows. But, as she looked on, she admired the one with a full head of thick, dark, curls bouncing as he dances on the dirt floor with his sword; he is precise with every movement, his steps are determined and quick, and his blocks are strong and reflexed. He would be a fine swordsman one day; she is sure of the stranger.

            It is not until the sparring dual ends with the auburn-haired one bowing his head in defeat and the dark haired one warmly tousles the hair of his sparring partner. When he finally looks up does she realize that it is Ned Stark’s bastard. There is a lightness to her heart when she knows that he is the fine swordsman that had beaten Robb Stark, maybe it is because he is a bastard and she was a bastard too once. Bastards are not expected to become very high in this realm, but she is the living proof that counters that.

~

            It isn’t until after her pleasant supper with the Stark family and when the whole castle has quieted down to nothing, but the whispers of light lamps and the sounds of guards walking all over the battlements; does she finally wander the ancient halls and stairwells of Winterfell. Her favorite is when she stumbles upon thousand-year-old tapestries that are strung upon the walls proudly. Each and every one of them depicts a moment in Stark history and she can read the full stories in every stitch as she gazes at every detail while loyal Lan sits next to her, awaiting to follow her when she wanders into the castle once again.

            The winds are chilly during the night, even more so than during the bright day and so she is grateful that Jayne forced her to wear her warmest furs out and she wraps it closer to her body as she walks across the yard. Lan trails behind her, not too close, but also not too far. The courtyard is more serene and peaceful at night without the noisy commoners and the sounds of the boys training. She could hear their yells during her bath earlier outside the windows, but she rather enjoys the sound of one voice- she just does not know who it belongs to. Not yet at least. She is a Lannister, and a Lion knows everything around the lands it rules. Though, Rowena knows that if Robert Baratheon was always the drunken foul at every hour, it would be her Queen Aunt ruling in his place.

            She had just been on her way back to her chamber, the month’s journey had deprived her of much needed rest, until she had heard the sound of dull steal meeting against something hard.

            _CLANK!_

_CLANK!_

The sounds echo throughout all of Winterfell that she is surprised that the castle had not woken up. She follows the sound of steel against something hard and she finds it is on the way to her guest chamber, but it is _who_ the noise is coming from that makes her stop in her muddied tracks. There _he_ is, swinging that stupid practice sword of his at the useless practice dummy that makes no sound of pain when he strikes the sword down on the dummy like a madman. There is a dancing fire to the way he dances with the sword, a dancing fire surrounded by nothing, but the ice cold keeping its flames from firing ablaze.

            “I am sure your enemy is more than dead, Snow.” She had not meant to make her presence known, but there was a tease in her soft and gentle voice.

            A small smile crept its way on her face when he brought his sword than and quickly looked up at her, his face flushed, and his dark gray eyes widened in shock. There she stood before him, the exotic haunting figure he had not been able to get out of his mind from the moment she first arrived at his home. His beauty shocked him, for he had not seen a beauty like she in a place like this; his brother Robb and Theon were right when they had described the Kingslayer’s daughter as the most exotic beauty in all of the Seven Kingdoms. He had not believed them at first, girls were never on his mind, but from the moment her green eyes with specks of brown met his; he had deemed her the most beautiful girl. And now, here she was standing before him in a gown that did not live up to her own beauty; weren’t the Gods already cruel to him, enough?

            Jon coughed dryly, “shouldn’t you be inside, My Lady? The warmth of the castle would fare you better than the cold.”

            Rowena smiled before she looked up at the stone walls and battlements, “I was exploring your home, Jon Snow. It’s quite different than Casterly Rock- more ancient.” She liked the sound of his deep yet gentle, husky, Northerner voice.

            With that she bid him goodnight with a little joke at him having already chopped off the limbs of the practice dummy, it isn’t until she is fully turned away from walking back into the castle with her hound right behind her, does Jon Snow truly smile to himself. Rowena Lannister just began her stay at Winterfell, and already she picked at the right gaps of his brooding self with her sharpened claws.

~

            Only a few weeks had gone since her arrival at Winterfell, and already the bond between her and the other Stark children had started to tie itself together. Sansa Stark was what Rowena knew she could have been when she was a girl if her grandfather had not brought her up the way he did; dreaming about Princes, gushing about brave knights who saved pretty maidens from ancient towers, reading love poems, and showing off her excellent embroidery. But no, Tywin Lannister had forced her and Tristan under the greatest Maesters for hours’ day after day, leaving no time to dream about Princes, knights, maidens, and embroidery; and then after the lessons with the Maesters was when he would teach her privately about the Game while Tristan was off attending his arms lessons with Castellan Ser Damian Creed. The private calculating lessons with her grandfather never included Tristan, _“he is too trustworthy. Too honest, like your father._ ” Was what he had said when she asked him why Tristan was never allowed.

            Arya Stark was what her sister Sansa was not; she was loud, wild like a wolf and she liked to play with bows and arrows and riding and sparring with her elder brothers, not sitting with Septa Mordane doing embroidery or reciting love poems and songs. So yes, Rowena would rather devout most of her time to the little Stark girl, now _she_ was a reminder of the girl Rowena used to hide from her grandfather. When there were no lessons to be taught by the Maester or her grandfather had too much responsibilities with the Westerlands to teach her more about the Game; She would let the lioness within her run free. Ser Damian had turned a blind eye whenever she would fire every arrow marking every target, there was always a time Tristan would ignore her whenever she would best him in anything related to weaponry.  Yet, riding had been her favorite act of small rebellion against her grandfather’s strict upbringing- it made her feel like she was flying, only the legs of the horse were her wings. And Arya Stark had more freedom than any other girl in Westeros, for that Rowena would find herself tagging along with the little wild she-wolf. Her little adventures made up for the time she would have been spending in the boring guest chamber to pass her time in Winterfell.

            Bran and Rickon were far too young to be going off on their own, and Catelyn Stark had them on a leash being held by Maester Luwin. The young wolves had to spend a majority of their time with their lessons being taught by the nice Maester, but when Rowena did find herself with the young Starks the two boys had more similarities between them than their older sisters. They would grow to become good men like their father before them, Rowena was sure of it.

            But when Rowena was not joining in on Arya’s wild acts, faking to enjoy embroidery and reciting old love stories with Sansa, or telling Bran and Rickon ancient-old lore about her ancestors and the Seven Kingdoms; then she would be with the elder Stark boys. Robb Stark and his bastard brother Jon Snow. On occasion (if he wasn’t busying himself with some whore from Winter’s Town), Theon Greyjoy tagged along. Perhaps, it was because they were very close to age that Robb Stark reminded her of Tristan, which was why she could indulge her time in his wit and boyish behavior. He didn’t seem to care if she forced her way into riding along with them and sometimes he had even let her put her skills in archery for show once- until Catelyn Stark had caught him and Jon eagerly pushing her to challenge Theon. The latter being prissy about the whole thing ending in her hitting more targets than the self-proclaimed ‘Iron Prince’ did. Though, while she enjoyed Robb’s presence and liked to laugh at Theon’s dirty jokes more than she would care to admit; the best thing that occupied her days at Winterfell had been a bastard called Snow. Jon Snow. 

            Rowena had begun a habit to teasing the brooding bastard son of Eddard Stark until his ivory skin flushed red and his handsome face tried to fight one of the rare boyish smiles from coming onto her face. Jon Snow and her shared something more than what she had with Robb, Theon, or any of the Stark children; they had an understanding, a deep meaningful understanding that only bastards could share. Yet, there were so many times that Jon would bitterly remind her that she was not a bastard like he was whenever she compared the both of them- she actually had a family name. An old great name. She was considered more highborn than he ever would be, she was legitimized from the day she had been born while he was to live under the Gods’ cruelty of being a bastard till the day he perished from this world. Though, she did not see it the way she did, to her they were the same. He did not know that, like Lady Stark, there was someone in her family that hated her and had looked at her with so much resentment and hatred long ago. Even with being legitimized, having a name belonging to one of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, and being showered by love from a father in front of so many eyes- she was still nothing, but a bastard to some.

            Jon Snow had become the only thing she truly enjoyed in this cold wasteland and the two of them knew they had developed something that should not have gone as far as the two of them foolishly had let it go.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG so i just now totally realized that i had first posted the first three chapters unorderly and i have never felt so embarrassed in my whole *face palm* this is an also repost as i had accidently deleted an earlier version of this story a few days ago. Apologies! Hope you enjoy this newly, and properly, ordered story once more! Sorry for the confusion!

CHAPTER 1

 

            “So, this is _the_ Lyanna Stark- the woman who started the Rebellion. And the woman who drove our King to drink himself to his own misery.”

            Rowena starred up at the bleak statue that depicted one of the most famous women in Westerosi history. On Lyanna’s marble face was carved a small sweet delicate smile and if Rowena looked further enough, perhaps she could see a small glimmer in the statue’s eyes. Oh, so many whispers and words Rowena had heard when she was little, all depicting Lyanna Stark as a different image. There was a hidden fascination inside of Rowena Lannister about the wolf-maiden, her death was a tragedy to some and a legacy to others. The infamous story of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. The Dragon Prince who stole away the wolf-maiden of the North and kept her locked away in the Tower of Joy. Rhaegar Targaryen a fool on his end for starting the destruction of his own family. The Targaryens, once the most powerful House in the realm with their fiery dragons, demolished into absolute nothing. It was sad really. Yet, Lyanna Stark’s death was more tragic than any.

            “My Lady, we shouldn’t be here. We should go back to the courtyard, your father and brother will be arriving soon.” Jayne urged from Lady’s side, looking over her petit shoulders constantly.

            Rowena merely ignored her, “they all say she was beautiful. Uncle Kevan told me there was a wild beauty about her. To know that such a beauty met that kind of end, it’s tragic isn’t Jayne?”

            “My Lady!” Jayne hissed, but to no avail Rowena simply looked on to the statue of Lyanna Stark. Jayne knew not of why the grave of a Stark mattered much to her Lady.

            “Septa Omera told me stories about her; the old crone would always sympathize how Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped her, raped her, and then killed her. I believed she thought that I made Lord Payne’s son smile and blush like a maiden too much, she said I would turn out just like Lyanna Stark if I kept leading him on the way I did.”

            Rowena continued, “she made it seem as if Lyanna called for her death. In a Septa’s eyes all they see are the Gods and a marriage between a man and a woman as faithful as it was in the beginning. Can you imagine how Elia Martell felt? Watching your husband declare another woman the ‘Queen of Love & Beauty” in front of all those people?”

            “Yet, Rhaegar Targaryen giving out such an honor to a woman he would murder…sounds quite dramatic. Cersei said the Dragon Prince liked to sing and play the bard and make all the young girls laugh. I assume his weapon was a string off his bard then?” Rowena quietly snickered the last part to herself. Not quiet enough for Jayne to glare at the woman beside her.

            “We should never mock the dead, My Lady.” Jayne shook her head.

            The faint sounds of horns blaring signaling the King’s arrival was enough to lift the heavy air of the ancient crypts. Rowena felt a smile grown on her face and her heart quicken in excitement as she looked up toward the direction of the noise.

            “Father.” She muttered followed by a giggle as she gathered the skirts of the warm, thick wool, floral jacquard, gown on her body. The ends of the long bear-furs she had on, flailing behind her as she took off without a thought, ready to be reunited with her Father once again. All thoughts surrounding Lyanna Stark disappeared.

            “Wait for me!” Jayne shouted desperately more than willing to shake off the uneasiness on her shoulders as she ran after her Lady, desperate to get out of the ancient crypts of the Starks once and for all.

 

_____

            The welcoming of the King and his royal party was less than ecstatic, but no more than a little tense. Lyanna wondered if her Queen aunt’s heart shrunk more when Robert Baratheon commanded Lord Stark to take him to the crypts to visit Lyanna. The only woman Robert truly loved. It was hard to imagine the King loving anything else than hunting or wine, or anyone else than the kitchen wenches and whore he fucked. Rowena had heard words from Kings Landing that reached through the walls of Casterly Rock whenever another bastard of Robert Baratheon was born into the realm. Her Queen aunt may be a scorned woman, but she was stronger than most men. Cersei Lannister was a true lion. Rowena had never heard the courtyard get more quiet or Lord Stark’s long face sulk so low it hit the dry ground; for who would have thought that after all these years, Robert Baratheon still pinned after Lyanna Stark.

            “My Lady we have to get you ready for the feast tonight, Brendon  Baratheon-”

            “I don’t bloody care about Brendon  Baratheon!” Rowena growled as she threw her furs onto the bed scaring Lan out of his curled position on the sheep-skin bed. It had only been an hour before when the bloody oaf Robert Baratheon announced in a private hall that a marriage between her and the King’s nephew were in the works. The works of Tywin Lannister earning even more power to himself to keep the eternal Lannister legacy going. It was strange to her how at that moment, all she felt was like a useless piece being forced to play when she was supposed to be moving her own piece. A marriage with the King’s nephew was more than security helping keep the lion’s claw deep into the Iron Throne- not that the lion needed more secureness with three Baratheon-Lannister children awaiting the throne. If anything, any girl would give their lives to give their hand in marriage to the only nephew of the King; fathers would give up their vassals if it meant their daughters had a chance of being a part of the royal family. Though, all Rowena felt inside was hallow, it was almost as if her claws had been sharpened down and all she wanted to turn away. She didn’t want to marry a Baratheon. She didn’t want to feel the same emptiness Cersei felt toward Robert.

            _I can still see the smirk on her face_

            Cersei Lannister has always hated her. Even more so Tristan than her. The woman loathed her so it would make sense why her own aunt would want her to face the same misery that she was going through.

            “You do not want to marry him, My Lady?” Jayne spoke softly from the other side of the room, sounding as if she understood.

            For the first time in a very long time, Rowena found herself unable to speak as her chest heaved up and down- whether from the countless stone steps she had to climb or the anxiety she felt, she didn’t know nor did she care. On instinct, Rowena’s hand shot up to grasp the dangling sterling-silver pendent dangling around her neck. The pendent was the only thing she had to remind herself that her mother did exist, it was the only think in her mother’s memory that she had. Rowena toyed the pendent between her fingers, the only thin that kept her calm when she could feel her heart beating inside her chest and her mind was frozen.

            “My Lady?” Jayne pondered out loud.

            “I-I-I don’t know what I want.” Rowena swallowed slowly glancing over her shoulder.

            “I understand; I know how it feels to be forced into something you don’t want… a position you don’t wish to have.” Jayne comforts her.

            Rowena turns away from her, “you love him, don’t you?”

            The question hangs in the still air for a few moments and Rowena does not need to ask twice for a definite answer, for the sudden silence from Jayne is enough to prove her right. Jayne has loved Tristan since they were girls, oh her brother was a fool for allowing the poor girl to believe that anything could happen between them. For he was the grandson of Tywin Lannister and the heir to Casterly Rock and she was the second daughter of some minor Lord that belonged to their House. Though, Rowena didn’t fail to notice the longing in her brother’s eyes when they caught sight of Jayne and she wanted to scowl at him for allowing himself to love so easily. Yet, who was she to judge her brother and Jayne for she was in the exact same position; Rowena Lannister loved someone she could never have. A bastard boy by the name of Jon Snow.

            Jayne clears her throat, “and do you love him?”

            Now, it is Rowena’s turn to use her silence as her answer. In the quiet room where only the roaring fire makes the only sound, both women have to come understand they both had fallen into a glorious trap of falling for someone they shouldn’t have. _The Gods be damned, Old and New, for playing these cruel games on us all_.

~~

             

                                                                       

            “You look beautiful, my lady.” Jayne dotes on her as she steps back to admire her work through the mirror.

Despite her lack of enthusiasm, Rowena knew she had to look the part despite how much she would rather be holed up in her guest chamber alone for the rest of the night. In the end Jayne had picked out for her a beautiful satin and tulle gown, off the shoulder, covered in small jewels that glistened in the night, the color of the intricate dress is a soft illuminate color of ivory. Jayne had taken the time to wash and comb through her curls and put it in wrap-around- braided bun with a few moist strands left out to frame her face.

            “Thank you Jayne- Rowena’s eyes flick up to meet Jayne through the mirror- for everything.”

            Jayne takes that as her cue to leave dragging the other two girls behind her and Rowena couldn’t be more than thankful when she is left alone in her room after all that time with Brendon  Baratheon in his guest solar eating pastries and fruit with wine. Though, her cup remained half full while he was on his third by the time she excused herself after a vision of Robert Baratheon sitting in front of him flashed in her mind. He had tried to kiss her on the cheek, but she feigned a cough and he let her go not wanting his soon-to-be-bride to get the both of them ill.

            When the door is closed and the sound of her handmaidens’ footsteps cannot be heard echoing, Rowena throws her goblet of red wine at the wall staining the stone and dripping onto the floor while the cup lands somewhere with a loud clang. She isn’t sure if the stone walls help to block out the sound, yet she also doesn’t care if anyone hears it _let them know that a lioness is within these walls_ she tells herself.

            There is a sudden knock on her door that almost sends her jumping out of her seat in front of the vanity, but she regains her composure. So, she straightens her back and glances at her reflection in the mirror taking a deep breath telling herself that she is a Lannister, a strong Lioness who will keep her composure no matter what.

            “Come in!” Rowena calls out still unable to get up from the small cushioned stool.

            The heavy wooden door is pulled open and she can’t help but feel her heart beats a little faster when the bastard son of Eddard Stark walks into the room. _Her_ bastard. Half of his face is illuminated by the burning fire while the half is swallowed by the cold darkness of the dancing shadows. Yet, from the other side of the room she cannot spot the melancholy look on his handsome face. As he stands there unwilling to move whether by the nerves in his core or the fact that even as she sits down, she is still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He doesn’t know, all he thinks about is how much this _will_ hurt her. How it will hurt the both of them.

            “Jon,” she lets out a breath and a small smile makes her way on her face, “I didn’t think you would come-”

            “I’m going up North, with Uncle Benjen… I’m taking the Black.” It leaves his mouth before he even thinks.

            The smile on her face drops like a rock hitting the bottom of a lake and then everything around her stops for moment. She has never had any claim on him neither did he have any on her, but somehow she feels _betrayed_. How could he do this to her? Why would he even need to join the Black? The Wall didn’t deserve him and still, he would leave her for a frozen wasteland and a wall of ice to stand side by side with baseborn criminals. Rowena’s first instinct was to throw anything in arms length at him for being so miserably stupid enough to believe the Night’s Watch was what he needed, but instead she feels herself rise from the chair and slowly, like a haunting figure, she made her way toward him. The fire breaks the thin silence between them when they stand only inches apart, their bodies desperately craving to touch each other the way they did that night in the hot springs. Though never far enough where he could dishonor her, for like his father, Jon Snow was raised an honorable wolf and could never bring another bastard into this world.

            So, to at least fulfill her body’s craving, she reaches to graze his rough cheek with her soft fingers. She can feel the stubble start to grow and she ignored the thought of how he would look like with facial hair because any thought of Jon Snow after this night will ruin her once more.

            “I am to marry Brendon Baratheon,” there is a flash of shock and hurt on his face when he stares down at her but she continues, “my grandfather and Robert Baratheon have already arranged a betrothal.”

            Jon stiffens and yet he remains a regal composure, in her eyes, “it’s a good match. You deserve to marry some high lord. You’ll be happy with a nephew of the King.”

            Jon Snow tries to block the thoughts of another man touching her skin and tasting her before he even got a chance to. Yet, there is a small pride in him when he remembers that he would always be the first man to see her as vulnerable and bare that first night. The first man to taste the red wine on her lips and first to run his hands through her silk curls when they laid looking up at the stars in the broken tower. And it was all while the title bastard hung around him.

            Rowena scoffs, “no, I would never be as happy with him as I was with you, Jon Snow. I don’t want to marry him; in another life I would never marry him.”

            Jon looks down at her with shock and he could see how much she meant those words. The willfulness in her eyes to know that if she wanted to, then she would turn away from all of this. If this was something she truly didn’t want, then she would turn her back. But, he could never let her do that for she deserved a title, a House, and a great lord not some bastard son of Eddard Stark.

             Rowena continues, her voice graver, “I want you, Jon Snow. I want to have you-”

            “Rowena we can’t-”

            “Shut up, will you just listen to me!” she growls at him like the lioness she is, “I love you Jon Snow, but the love I have for you is deep enough for me to let you go. I would never forget about what we had or what we could have been in different time-”

            He kisses her with more passion than any other stolen kiss they have ever shared between them, he kisses her because he doesn’t know if wants this to be the last time he will ever taste her again. Kisses her because he wants to remember how it felt to feel her soft lips on his when he’s laying on some straw bed starring at a leaking ceiling. He kisses her because he will never have chance to do it again when she’s married to Brendon Baratheon. He loves her too much to dishonor her in any way. They both pull away so achingly slow and he think about if they had more time, but they don’t. The Gods are cruel as such.

            The both of them are gasping for breath, foreheads leaning against each other, and neither of them want to pull apart any further but their time is up when the bells rings through Winterfell marking the beginning of the feast.

            Rowena is the first to break the silence, “I will always love you, Jon Snow. Always.” She vows it to the Mother, Stranger, and Maiden.

            Jon smiles, “I’ll take your love with me to the wall then. It’ll protect me against the wildings better than any sword forged at Castle Black.”

            Rowena laughs out loud, her laugh echoing throughout the chambers, but the pain in it is as sharp as glass. In the end this is their good-bye to each other, emotionally, mentally, and physically. It hurts either way, but he is a wolf and she a lion, neither of their sigils bow to their weaknesses. They continue to thrive until the spirit within them dies.

            “You should go join the feast, it wouldn’t do well for a member of the royal family to miss a feast in their honor.” Jon murmurs although he wants nothing more than to keep her here, near him.

            In the end, she grants him one last innocent kiss with a scoff about how she wasn’t even near alike her ‘royal family’, before she turns away from him, Jon swears to his Old Gods that there are tear streaks down her face by the time she’s out the door. Once more, Jon curses to the Old Gods for bringing such cruelty to him, and once more, for giving him the love and heart of Rowena Lannister that he could not keep for himself because his birth wouldn’t allow him.

_______________

            The feast is in full swing before she even entered the great hall, yet it seems her presence is more than known when she walked down the open aisle. Her tears are gone from her face and the Lioness has invaded her once again, at lest for this night. She swears that she hears one of them claim her as the next “Lady of the Stormlands”, but Rowena Lannister belongs nowhere, but Casterly Rock and the man she would marry could never make her forget that. The daughters of the minor lords all look and speak of her with envy in their eyes and for that Rowena smirks and lifts her chin a little higher, the people of the West call her the ‘Sun of Casterly Rock’; for her exotic beauty was bright and blinding and she would always be the first thing you would see when you opened your eyes. Rowena wonders how many of those daughters ever dreamed about marrying the nephew of the King, and she knows that they have dreamed of the honor more than she ever will. Seven Hells, there was never a time where she ever dreamt about marrying a Baratheon at all and her grandfather had never spoke of any marriage proposals toward her. So, why all of a sudden now?

            “Enjoying the feast?” A voice all but shouted beside her. Yet, it did nothing to startle to her, nothing could startle a lion.

            She turned her head hoping to see somber black eyes, a head full of raven curls, and a face of a handsome rugged Northernman; but no, as she blinked her eyes all she forced herself to look into were a pair of shining blue eyes and a face befitting of pretty southern lord told in sonnets and maiden stories. Brendon Baratheon was a pretty gent, a younger version of his own King uncle who had once been fiercely handsome, just like some of his mannerisms she observed- she had never met the boy (he was nowhere near a man, at least not to her, even if he had already passed the peak of his manhood) until she been thrown onto him earlier today, but as the feast went on and on, it became apparent that her betrothed had inherited his uncle’s trait of being loud and boisterous.

            Rowena shoved those thoughts from her mind and gave him a pleasant smile, one for all to see, “yes, although it doesn’t quite live up to the feast at Casterly Rock. Or even perhaps, the feast the King throws at the Red Keep. Although, I suppose you would second that.”

            Brendon Baratheon had been raised in Kings Landing when his mother, the King’s only sister, Cassandra Errol died of a quick plague, months after her husband Harry Errol died after fighting alongside his good-brother during the rebellion. It was on the will of her mother that her son be raised near his Uncle, yet looking at how her son was nearly drowning his own cup in wine all while smirking at a minor Lord’s daughter (Seven Hells, she only turned her attention away from him for a quick moment), Rowena couldn’t help but think it was a bad choice on the woman’s part. Rowena masked her distaste at her betrothed undressing another woman right next to her, swallowing down the last reminder of red Dornish wine in her goblet, her eyes set on her brother who was in conversation with a few of his own men. Rowena noted how the Lannister soldiers that had come to escort her brother made an effort to separate themselves from the North’s bannermen.

            That was the difference between the two of them, Tristan was more of an open book and open mind and enjoyed to divulge in the attention of those around him whenever it suited him; whereas she was more inclusive to herself and reserved more to those who made their presence know around her, Rowena liked to observe and watch not speak. A frown gathered on his face, if her brother was ever to be Lord of Casterly Rock than he would have to change his whole mind set. If only her grandfather had included her brother-

            “…I swear to the Gods that I’ll throw Stormlands the most prominent feast and tourney the moment we say our vows and become husband and wife. Not even your pretty little Rock could champion such a tourney.”

            Had her thoughts gathered her for so long to block out all that was happening around her, including whatever Brendon had been saying to her? She could only be thankful for having such an active mind. 

Rowena tore her eyes away from her brother, fighting the urge to make any distaste so noticeable as she looked at his crooked grin on her betrothed’s face, instead she wore a thin smile on her face, “do you mean when your uncle Renly is no longer Lord Paramount of the Stormlands? Never mind if he is to finally marry and have his own heirs. Surely, my betrothed has not forgotten that the Stormlands are not his, by right? Not yet, until then….” She raised a fine eyebrow, “you are neither an heir or a Lord. Do not worry, Casterly Rock will be sure to do our marriage bed fine.” 

            Rowena hid a quick smirk of dissatisfaction as Brendon starred at her, mouth slightly agape as if he had been punctured by a dull arrow head. Rowena set down her goblet on the wooden table with a soft _clink_ before flickering her eyes over to her brother on the opposite side of the hall.

            She glanced down at her betrothed with a gentle, yet twisted smile, “now, if you excuse me my betrothed, it seems I have missed more than enough dances with my brother. It is tradition for the both of us to dance with each other, at least once during a feast”

            Without spending another glance at her stuttering betrothed, Rowena raised herself from her chair and made her way toward the other end of the hall, gracefully moving past the dancing bodies and slumped bodies against the walls over the loud banter music. Tristan, in her eyes will always be her boy brother who had come before her into this world, but he looked so much older with the ghost of his trimmed dark stubble on his chiseled face and the short waves of curls on his head had seemed to turn much lighter from underneath the western sun that she had missed so much. Yet, even before she reaches her brother, she senses a new stigma surrounding her gentle, tall, and lean brother; she thinks it is a renowned sense of self-worth in him that makes him join the Lannister soldiers in separating themselves from the other Northermen, although Tristan had always been the one to be cautious of people he had just met.

            Rowena greets him with a wide and true smile on her face as she makes her presence known, “I hope I am not interrupting your hunt stories, it would be a shame to hear the same story of how you put a spear through another deer, brother.” It isn’t her mocking him, no, she saves her mocks for the people she has thin patience with.

            The soldiers still in their infamous red, black, and gold lion armor merely chuckle around her brother, some of them gulping down their red wine. Rowena merely ignored them, catching a smirk coming from her brother as the musicians finished another joyous song before starting another one, encouraging more and more to dance the night away.

            Tristan placed his cup, still filled to the rim, on the table before holding out his hand for his sister to take, “would you do me the honor of dancing with me, dear sister?”

            Rowena didn’t have to tell him twice as she took her brother’s hand and led him to the pairs of lords and ladies dancing in the middle of the hall. Tristan had never been one of the best dancers during feast, but he wasn’t the worse partner she could have, besides it wouldn’t do well for a lady to dance with another man besides her betrothed except for her brother. What harm could dancing with her only brother do? Nothing. Rowena laughed like a little girl in dreams as Tristan spun her around with as much grace as a hunched squire could have, soon into the dance they switched partners and Rowena was lucky to have dance once with one of Lord Stark’s bannermen whereas Tristan had been forced to pry a drunken maid’s hands off his satin blood red doublet.  Rowena grinned when her brother gave out a relieved glint in his eyes as they found each other again amidst all of the twirling and dancing, and yet much to her chagrin, the song was nearing a closing end and so was the feast the moment that Robert Baratheon wowed a kitchen wench out of the hall with him. Once Tristan and her were in close range, her brother opened his mouth and her ears pricked to listen;

            “You shouldn’t be ignoring your husband-to-be; word will spread fast of how you would rather spend the feast with your brother than the man you are set to marry.” It is meant to be a joke, but there is a little true concern in it and she wonders if her grandfather had mention a thing or two about keeping up appearances.

            She lifts the corner of her mouth up, “is that obvious, brother? Besides, they’ll all be drunk in the morning. I’m so sure they would not remember a simple girl avoiding her betrothed.”

            This time her brother shakes his head with a lion’s grin, “but you are no simple girl, little sister. You are Rowena Lannister of Casterly Rock.”

            _Rowena Lannister of Casterly Rock, belonging to the Great House Lannister_

            _Quite a title_ she thinks herself blessed by the Gods to be born under such a house, but she wipes those thoughts away when the violinist hits a high simmering note in the song as the song’s signature end. The hall erupted into cheers and claps as lord and ladies and bannermen started to go separate ways, some even leaving the hall to end their night. Rowena made her way to turn, but a hand grasped the back of her elbow pulling her back from the crowd, she looked at him sharply as he leaned down within earshot to only her.

            “There is a letter from our dear grandfather, I had Jane bring up to your chambers personally.” Tristan told her, eyes flickering around for any sign of possible eavesdropping though as more and more fled out of the hall, Rowena doubted it. After all, they were in the home of the honorable Starks now. She ignored how her brother had mentioned about giving Jane the letter and Rowena knew that the two of them had met with each other before the feast. Rowena would remind herself to talk to her brother about his relationship with her lady-in-waiting. He would be Lord of Casterly Rock soon, he would have to learn what that would mean to his personal life sooner or later.

            Rowena quirked an eyebrow, “a letter from grandfather? Why?”

            Tristan shrugged before pressing a light kiss to her cheek, a simple show of brotherly affection, “that is for you to know, dear sister. Goodnight and sleep well, be sure not to have those wildings scare your dreams.” He winked at her before he turned on his heel to and disappeared into the crowd. No doubt he would join their uncle, wherever their Imp uncle happened to be in this damn castle.

            Rowena merely rolled her eyes _a lioness is never afraid of anything, dear brother_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, kudo, and bookmark for more!!!


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of ended this with a cliff hanger ;)

CHAPTER 2

 

_Rowena,_

_As you may have now learned, the betrothal between you and Brendon Baratheon has now been made official by the King himself. Whilst the marriage between you two is now secure in more than the King’s writing, it is of necessary importance that you take caution with what I am about to tell you. You are to stay with your father in Kings Landing, during the duration of your betrothal to Brendon Baratheon, the closer you are to the boy, the much more you will have influence over him when you are wedded. Tristan shall continue to live in Casterly Rock where I will personally see to it that he holds the family name and knows the true meaning of a Lannister always paying our debts before he takes over as Lord of Casterly Rock as my heir. The time will come, but there is much he has to learn that you do not.  Do not fret I am sure that your disgraceful Imp Uncle will be more than enough to amuse you at your new home while he tarnishes the family name some more. The Red Keep will now be what Casterly Rock is to you, and I have taught you everything you need to know on how to play the Game. You will do whatever it takes to make the Robert Baratheon’s boy nephew heel at your every word and become the husband you wish to be. Cersei holds her crown with three children and you shall do the same with the Stormlands. The lions shall rule over every region under his paw. The North would have succeeded better within your reach, but the honorable fool Eddard Stark has chosen to promise his eldest son to another rather than a true lady of the South; your time wasted in the North will never be brought back, but there is still time for the Baratheon boy. We shall talk more whenever we are reunited._

_Sincerely,_

_Lord Tywin Lannister_

            “You worry too much dear sister; you were born in Kings Landing- _we_ were born in the Red Keep. You act as if Kings Landing had never been your home.” Tristan’s voice ringed in her ear as he skimmed his eyes over her shoulder reading their lord grandfather’s letter. An invasion of siblings’ privacy to to others, but between her and her twin, there were no secrets.

            Rowena looked sharply at him, “it would never be my home if I had a say in all of this.”

            Tristan rolled his eyes as he made his way to a pitcher of wine, “you didn’t think grandfather would let you wither away in Casterly Rock to withered old bones, did you? You are a woman-”

            “I know bloody well I _am_ a woman.” Rowena snarled at him as she crumped the letter in her hand as she stared out of the window of her brother’s chambers. The Northern sun had already risen above the cold and dry hills surrounding Winterfell and the people within it had already began their common work. Some even before the sun rise.

After the feast, Rowena had drowned herself in three cups of Dornish sweet wine after Brendon Baratheon smothered her cheek in a heavy kiss full of wine and ale as a bid for goodnight; Rowena had scrubbed at her cheek with a cloth soaked in winter rose water before going to bed. Leaving her grandfather’s letter unopened and forgotten on the vanity throughout the night. All until Jayne had woken her a couple moments earlier saying she had over-slept into breakfast and Tristan had been waiting outside to check in on her; Rowena knew the only reason why Tristan bothered to come to her chambers was to find out what grandfather had written to her. After all, they shared everything between them.

            Tristan brought the cup to his lip, peering at her as he leaned against a table, “which then means, you are to be married to some lord’s son, give him an heir or two, and sit out your days overlooking some pretty place that isn’t Casterly Rock. It must have happened sooner or later, dear sister.”

            Rowena rubbed the bridges of her nose as she closed her eyes as she gave out a cold laugh, “a lion and a stag. Look how pleasant that turned out.”

            Bitter bile raised in her throat as she thought of the loveless and hate filled marriage between her aunt and the King. Seventeen-years and neither had ever tried to make their marriage what it could have been, Robert had attached himself to Lyanna Stark’s ghost and Cersei had held onto the only good things her marriage with the oaf had brought her; a crown and a title as Queen along with their children. There could be nothing given to her in her own marriage to Brendon Baratheon, nothing but the sure humiliation and heart turned cold if he continued to be the same man as his king uncle. No matter how many reassurances from Jayne assuring her that Brendon Baratheon could be a decent man, no matter how much her brother spoke highly of a man he had only known for few days, and no matter how much she could have prayed to the Mother; something within her cautioned her about all things Brendon Baratheon. Yet, deep within her heart, there was something else too, something entirely different that gnawed at her from within, and as much as she would deny herself, it was as simple and hard to accept as the truth; Brendon Baratheon was not Jon Snow. And he could never be.

            Rowena opened her eyes and as she starred straight ahead she could see squires and others getting everything ready for the hunting trip the King had set upon. The King loved his hunts and what better place to hunt than the wild wilderness of the North. Most of the men had been invited (more so ordered) to join the hunt, men including her brother, although she doubted her uncle Tyrion would join the hunt and had most likely politely declined in place of some books, tits, and wine. The King’s hunting party would be gone for a day or two which meant Brendon Baratheon would be out of her hairs and that alone was enough to make Rowena’s lips curve up even just slightly. And then she caught sight of Robb Stark, sitting high and tall and as honorable as his father on top of his horse next to Theon Greyjoy as the ‘Iron Prince’ sat on top of his own horse.

            _The North would have succeeded better within your reach, but the honorable fool Eddard Stark has chosen to promise his eldest son to another rather than a true lady of the South_

            The words echoed in her mind and now it all seemed to fit together, her grandfather had given her to the Starks as some sort of symbol of a sought marriage between herself and Robb Stark. It all made sense as to why her grandfather had even granted she would go North to reunite with her father in the first place, now it made it even more precise as to why he had allowed her to go a whole month earlier than her brother. Tywin Lannister had schemed an marriage alliance that would have tied the south closer to the north, or more specifically, the Lannisters having some control of the largest region of Westeros. Rowena had been close to becoming the Lady of Winterfell, looking over the large rugged cold wasteland as the wife of her bastard lover’s brother. Somehow, all of that sounded a little worse than marrying Brendon Baratheon, though she would deem Robb Stark the better man between the two.

            Rowena turned away from the window and stood up from her chair, making her way over to the pitcher and wine. Neither brother or sister shared any words as she filled her cup only half-way to the brim and with cup in hand, she moved her body to face her brother.

            “Speaking of marriage dear brother, you would have to marry soon. After all, Casterly Rock and the Westerlands need a Lady as much as it needs their Lord.”

            She saw the way he winced at her choice to move the discussion to his own personal matter, a personal matter regarding the ‘secret’ liaison with Jayne Seywell and himself. Rowena knew that her Grandfather held knowledge over his grandson’s foolish self-proclaimed love for a daughter belonging to one of his minor lords (though the lion lord did not know which one), after all a Lion should know all of the little secrets kept in the land it rules over. Also, she had slyly mentioned it to her grandfather when he had pressed her as to why Tristan seemed to have disappeared for longer than necessary a few times during the day. Though, all she would say is that he had sought his attention on the opposite sex. He did not push her after that, though Rowena was smart enough to know that her grandfather had ears and eyes everywhere.

            Rowena cocked an eyebrow, “I like the girl, even consider her the only friend I have-” she paused eyeing her brother’s quirk of the mention of _‘friend_ ’’ coming from her lips at this Rowena rolled her eyes, “alright, one of the few I would trust certain matters with. But you cannot marry her, so I advise you dear brother, to think of how neither of you could possibly go any further.”

            Tristan looked at her sharply, “what do you mean?

            Rowena smirked, as she set her hand on the table, “you are Tywin Lannister’s only heir. Do you really think that he would let you marry some minor lord’s second-born daughter? She is nothing, but a spec of dust and we are the high objects it collects around. The irony considering, she is more legitimate than the both of us will ever be. Let her go.”

            It was cruel advice, hard on his ears and mind, she knew. But it is what needed to be said, and she doubt that her advice would be any harsher than her grandfather once the man got around to confronting his grandson about it.

            But still she pressed it further just as the king’s booming voice could be heart from below, “we are Lions brother, never forget we do not heed to those lesser than us. Not even to those we think we love.”

            With that, her brother took his leave before the horn of the King’s hunting departure, and he so without a word but the sound of his goblet tumbling over as he slammed it on the table. Rowena rolled her eyes at the dramatic exit of her brother marching out of her chambers, leaving her door open in some silent sign of resistance to the truth that she spoke.

            _He behaves more like a woman in a skirt than I do sometimes_ she let out a snort as she brought the cup up to her lips and drank the remaining bit of the sweet red liquid, the wine warming her throat better than any fire in this castle could.

Then, as quick as the wine warmed her throat, as quicker as it did when the it died down and the cup in her hands became lighter just as a soft knock rattled on the door. Without turning around to see who it was, Rowena merely turned her attention back to the pitcher and her cup, eagerly pouring more wine halfway into her cup. Feeling this person’s presence once more, Rowena let out an obvious sigh of annoyance before leaving her cup standing alone, turning to look at the new presence in her room. It was some sort of maid, a woman that looked to be around the same age as Cersei or just a little younger than her Queen aunt, with dark hair and dark eyes; yet, Rowena noticed the cleaning materials befitting of a chamber pot maid, but yet there was something off about this woman; unlike most of the maids who allowed themselves to be ruled over by Catelyn Stark and looked away as soon as someone above them glanced their way, this woman seemed to be standing tall almost as if she felt herself equal to a Lannister.

            Not even the maids and stable boys stood so tall around her and her brother at the Rock, no, a lot of them would bow their heads as they passed them in the halls or would be more enlighten to shrink under the attention of their better lords and ladies. No, but this ‘chamber maid’ merely had the courage to stare at her with a face that resembled that of one having a chance encounter with some ghost, and yet as quick as the look came as quick as it went. The woman placed on her façade and softly cleared her throat, making a small crack in the quietness between them.

            Rowena watched with cat-like eyes as the woman placed the bucket down on the floor, “has my usual chambermaid fallen ill?” it was a simple question, meant to to see what sort of forced answer this woman would give her. Rowena let out a breath as the woman merely stared at her from her spot in front of the door

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, kudo, and bookmark for more! I will do my best to reply back to those who comment their thoughts on the story and overall on how its progressing!

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to those who had bookmarked the original version! My accident prone self was bound to come out :/
> 
> Read and enjoy Lovelies!!
> 
> Kudo, comment, and bookmark for more and to share your opinions!!!


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